A Matter of Opinion
by momijikk
Summary: In his opinion, England would have never gone with France. Sometimes, that opinion just wouldn't hold up.


**A Matter of Opinion**

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_In his opinion, England would have never gone with France. Sometimes, that opinion just wouldn't hold up._

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"You wino bastard, stay the bloody hell away from me!"

"But mon Angleterre, we were going to have some fun tonight."

"That's all according to you." Huffing moodily, England crossed his arms and turned away from the other nation standing a little too close beside him. If he could have, he would already have shoved that wine bastard down a hole where he couldn't find his way to the surface for many years to come. "Why would I even consider having any sort of 'fun' with you, anyways? Wino bastard."

France only chuckled at this, and England scoffed in return. That frog better not have had any ideas or anything. England was now second guessing why he had agreed to go in the first place, but that seemed irrelevant. By this point, all that was left to do was squeeze every drop that he could from this situation.

"Just as long as we go to a pub that suits my tastes."

"Agreed, agreed, mon ami."

Now England allowed himself a smirk. He could win against this man with almost no effort at all. Just like it was supposed to be. And if France wanted to take him out, then he would do it in the proper gentlemanly way. Because England loved to see him squirm a little on the inside. Frankly, England liked to see a lot of people squirm, but that was because they all deserved to feel some kind of discomfort anyways. "And it's on your tab."

"Mon dieu, you do not take this lightly, do you, mon Angleterre?"

"I intend to make you treat me like the proper host you're aspiring to be, frog."

France laughed again, and England wondered what was so funny. He hadn't really said anything the other would laugh at, save calling him a frog but only England really found that funny and he was sure that France would not find the insult jabbed at himself funny at all. Unless he was already wasted. Was he already smashed? It didn't seem like so yet.

England shrugged off the feeling and continued to the pub. He was planning on drinking as much as he could stomach, just to get back at that frog for ruining the rest of a perfectly good evening. He still wasn't entirely sure why he had agreed.

--

Slick, wet, slapping skin-on-skin. Body heat at a higher-than-normal temperature. Eyes glinting hungrily in the dim light, eyelids fluttering. Laboured breathing, preparations thought through, then carried out. Rough lips to lips, lips on neck, chest, and lower still. Rhythmic movements of pumping and thrusting and the steady up and down, up and down. Muted moans and sounds of pleasure, murmuring names in breathless voices and screaming promises loud and unrestrained. Hands burying deliciously in hair, back arching as the white hot sensation enveloped and drowned out everything else.

Everything was silent and dark.

England awoke to find that, one, he had a massive headache. Not as bad as his usual hangovers, but still pretty bad. Two, he was naked. That seemed to be easier to rationalize since he had a hangover and had obviously therefore been drinking the other night. And three, he was naked in bed with an equally naked someone.

That someone groaned and turned over in bed, making themselves known to be France.

England thought it wise to get the hell out of there before France woke up. He could only remember sensations from the night before, and knew that this was not normal. His usual affairs never included France.

If he acted like nothing had happened at the summit later that day, then perhaps they both could believe nothing had happened. He sincerely hoped that would be the case. This was awkward enough as it was.

--

Sitting upright and tense in his chair, tapping a finger on the table, England felt that if he had to listen to one more minute of America ranting about how they could solve world hunger by inventing a way to dehydrate food so that it could be compacted into larger spaces and therefore making more room for even more food. Honestly, he still wondered how that git had managed to think out the idea of gaining independence.

Well, to be fair, he had been under England's control during that time. It must have been losing such a smart and wonderful father like England that drove America to such insane tendencies.

But enough about that. He could worry about his hopeless son some other time. For the time being, he had other, more important problems to preoccupy his mind with.

Like how France was basically avoiding him for the entire summit. So far, at least.

He'd walked in, opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again and taken his seat at the table. Nothing else. England had been expecting him to advertise the fact that he had managed to seduce the Briton into his bed the night before, but that had not been the case. France remained silent on the matter. Italy, for one, had noticed right away, but was too caught up in trying to get Germany's attention to give it a second thought. America had noticed, England knew this for a fact, but had also refrained from saying anything. Which was unusual for the loud-mouthed nation.

The other nations, too, were all giving them strange glances, but France ignored them pointedly and England could not be bothered with them. Besides, this was his and France's problem. There was no need for any other nosy nations to butt their way into his personal issues.

"...And, furthermore, we should try to make a growing machine while we're at it! If we can minimize food, then we should make a way to maximize it, too! That way, there would be more for--"

"Just shut up already, git, your ideas will never work."

All eyes turned to England, and he clamped his mouth shut on instinct. He hadn't meant to say that, America was just annoying him so much with his pointless rambling. Now that he had, though, he turned to glare at the younger nation. America's grin faltered, but brightened after another moment.

"But I'm the hero! My ideas always work!"

"No, they bloody don't. You're simply delusional."

"I'm not delusional! I don't have a bunch of imaginary friends I talk to."

England slammed both of his palms down on the table and stood up from his seat, facing America with the intention to hurt. America was able to meet his glare with a grin. Somewhere, Germany was heard sighing. It wasn't their fault the meetings always dissolved like this, they just did. Did the world really think it was a good idea to shove all of them in the same room together? That would have been the more appropriate question.

"You will eat those words, git!!"

"Lay off America, England."

France's sudden input made England whirl on the other. Their gazes locked and England was silently proud of himself that he could keep his glare. "What's it to you, you frog? Stay out of..."

There was no other way to describe it. His voice had simply stopped on him. Sedated, England looked down at the table to avoid having to meet France's eyes any longer and sat back in his seat. The room had gone completely silent in shock and bewilderment. England could only mentally curse at himself for appearing so weak. He could still fight that damned man if he felt like it.

And that was the question. Did he really feel like fighting the other?

"Hey, dad...?" America's voice was a lot more cautious than he had heard in years. Because of that, and that only, England looked up to face him, scowl replaced in his expression. "Did something happen between you and mom? You're not acting like your normal self."

Also leave it to America to not be able to read the atmosphere. Sputtering angrily, England stood up again and pointed rudely across the table at France. "Nothing happened between us and since when did you start calling me that again?"

"Angleterre." France, being uncharacteristically serious, also took this moment to stand up and face England head on. England felt his resolve tip slightly underneath him. Still, he forced some power in his stance and met the look with narrowed eyes. A normal expression for him. "We cannot deny what happened between us. So, s'il vous plait...Come back to me?"

France winked, and England felt like he was going to die of embarrassment. Or pummel France's face in with his boots. The latter options sounded favourable over the former. "Can't you take things seriously for one second?"

"I can, mon amour, but then life would have no spice, don't you agree?"

"I do not agree, I would never agree with you, you...you...!" Taking up his mostly full water bottle, forgetting completely that the cap was unscrewed, he tossed it at the offending nation. Serve him right if he got a nasty welt for teasing him. "Frog!!"

The water was flung everywhere, much to many of the other nation's dismay, and England opened his clenched eyes to see that the bottle had smacked France right in the face. He felt better with that, even if he managed to get water on himself as well. Who cared if he was wet and the others were whining at him when he had finally paid France back? He was starting to feel better already.

"Dad! You got my favorite jacket all wet!" The most prominent whining was, of course, from America, who was attempting to clean his glasses with a dry corner of his suit beneath his jacket. England huffed in reply. America pouted. "You should just resolve the issue you have with mom in a normal way. Or let it go once in a while. Because getting the hero's jacket wet is so un-heroic."

Was that even a real word? Oh, what the bugger did he care, it was America. America said things that didn't make sense all the time. His ignoring America made the bigger nation pout even more and go to complain to someone who would listen to him. Someone like Canada (and no, England remembered who he was perfectly fine, thank you very much).

Germany decided that it was in their best interest to adjourn the meeting at that, and nations began to file out of the room, some still a little puzzled by England and France's interaction. France was busy trying to dry his hair as best as he could, mumbling about how heartless and cold British lovers could be. England supposed he honestly didn't mind.

"Oy. Wino." Regrettably (and not at the same time), England was a gentleman first and foremost, and so he handed his kerchief to the other nation to use. France accepted it with a lewd grin, but no comment. That was slightly odd. "...Damn well better be grateful for that."

"How can I be grateful about having a water bottle thrown at me by my lover?"

"Sod you."

Though he did not deny the fact. France locked eyes with him at this, making a shiver course down his spine, and trapped him against the table. Those few nations who had not vacated the area yet were hastily doing so now. "Is that an invitation?"

"If you'll remember correctly, you were the one begging for more last night."

That made France pause momentarily, to try and recall if that was correct, and England had the tables turned in that instant. Pressing France into the table.

Was it just a cheap thrill? Maybe. But it was better than nothing by this point. Besides, there was still a lot of tension between them that did need to be solved. He was merely helping it along. "If I remember correctly, mon Angleterre, you left me to wake up all alone."

"Well." England swallowed thickly as France's arms wrapped around him smoothly. He smirked. "We'll just have to get that right this time, bloody wino bastard."

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**A/N**: ...Okay. First, a few points on this. The dialogue sounds awkward. The scenes are a bit strange and I don't think I wrote from England's point of view well enough. Sadly, one of the few things I do like in here is the vague scene where they had sex (and I only like it because it's vague, really). But the person I wrote it for liked it, which made me happy.

The prompt I got for this was: France/UK. Basically, they sleep together (you don't have to write that part) and then, the next day, turning up to a meeting, they're really awkward and everyone else is like '... What the fuck is going on?'

This was a swap for England [**Tensai-chan**] on the MPH-MSN group on DeviantArt. She wrote me an awesome little ficlet [Of Coffee and Magic] about America and Arthur. Go read it if you can.

Please review and tell me what you think?


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